


Nothing's Random

by WrathoftheStag (Mwuahna)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: A day at the museum, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Bitty still did, Chicago (City), Falling In Love, Jack didn't go to Samwell, Love at first sight-ish, M/M, NHL!Jack, Samwell Bitty, They meet in a different city, True Love, Zimbits meet cute, meet cute, zimbits - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-27 23:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13891386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mwuahna/pseuds/WrathoftheStag
Summary: On a lark, Jack decides to stay behind and spend a couple days in Chicago after a roadie, and it is during his walk to the Art Institute that he runs into a random stranger that will forever change his life.





	1. Chicago

**Author's Note:**

> This thing was written in two days and was totally prompted by a mental image/idea of Jack and Bitty meeting cute somewhere and they both get an attack of the giggles. Somehow that simple idea gave birth to this nonsense. Lots of talking, usual Zimbits cuteness, awkward AF Jack.

Jack had two days in Chicago. It was a rare and fortunate event in that he’d never really explored Chicago outside of the United Center, and he was excited to visit The Art Institute. While the rest of the team planned on leaving immediately after the game, Jack decided to take his mother’s advice and just take a quick breather for once. 

So after the Falconers’ afternoon game against the Hawks, Jack said goodbye to the team and checked himself into the Peninsula. He looked outside his suite’s window, stared at the Hancock Center across the street and the lake that peeked out behind it. He then released a big, deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Jack kicked off his shoes and plopped himself onto his king-sized bed. He studied the design of the ceiling above him, counted backward as he eased deeper and deeper into the mattress. He sat up, leaned over and grabbed one of the water bottles on the nightstand and took a big swig. Jack picked up his tablet from the bed and powered it up.

The museum was a mile away, definitely an easy walk, and the weather seemed agreeable enough. Jack finished his water and formulated a plan: museum for a couple hours, lunch somewhere, then head back to the hotel, and maybe walk to the Purple Pig for dinner (Tater had enthusiastically recommended it, “Zimmboni! They have fried olives!”) Jack noticed there was a Dylan’s Candy Bar on the way there. Maybe he’d pick up some gummy bears for papa. Bad Bob’s sweet tooth was almost as legendary as his slap shot. 

_I’m heading to the museum now, maman_ Jack texted Alicia as he grabbed his jacket.

_Have fun, sweetheart. ❤ Take pictures of the Monets for me._

_Will do!_

Jack walked through the lavish hotel lobby and pulled down his Cubs cap lower over his brow. Soon he was outside walking down Michigan Avenue observing the busy hum of activity around him. A woman walked her tiny dog while a man yelled at someone on his cellphone. Two teenage girls, similarly dressed, laughed and shared a bag of cheese popcorn. A couple window shopped and held hands. Jack turned and smiled at them.

Jack felt lighter than he had in weeks as he strolled briskly down the busy street. Just then, the person in front of him dropped something. It appeared to be a wallet. Jack hurried and picked it up from the sidewalk and called to the man, who didn’t turn around. Jack noticed he wore earphones, so he tapped the blond man on the shoulder.

“Whoa, nelly!” the man yelled loudly as he turned around.

“Hey!” Jack shouted reflexively as he jumped back.

The man blinked at Jack, and pulled out his earbuds. Looking back at Jack was the loveliest face he’d ever seen: big brown eyes, a small upturned nose, the sweetest expression. The man’s hair swept across his forehead with the city’s crisp breeze.

“Sorry. You, uh, dropped your wallet.”

The man smiled at Jack which, in turn, caused Jack to smile back.

“Lord! I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to shout. I was just totally in my headspace there and you surprised me, that’s all. Thanks so much!”

“Oh, no problem,” Jack said and continued to smile as he handed the man his wallet.

“I would have walked into that Starbucks, ordered my venti caramel macchiato with an extra shot and whip, and then had a heart attack. You saved me. See? Who says big cities don’t have honest people.”

“I’m not from here,” Jack replied awkwardly.

“Well, thank you anyway,” the man said as he pushed his wind tousled hair off his forehead, and shoved his wallet into his pocket.

“You’re welcome,” Jack answered stiffly, and felt like an idiot when he couldn’t get rid of his smile.

The two continued to grin at one another, then the man chuckled softly and pointed at the Starbucks just ahead. 

“I... uh… guess I better get my coffee then. Um, thanks again.”

Jack nodded, and the man gave Jack a quick salute and made his way into Starbucks. Jack stood for a second and contemplated going inside to follow him in, but stopped himself. That was definitely not something Jack would do, so he surprised himself by even thinking of that.

“Okay, Jack. No need to be a creeper,” he said to himself then continued toward the museum.

The museum itself was large and a bit overwhelming for Jack. The long line for tickets made him nervous. Too many bodies, too much noise-- just too much. Jack noticed the membership desk was not busy, so he decided to buy a membership and avoid the lines altogether.

One hundred dollars and five minutes later, Jack was officially inside the Art Institute. He took a seat on the bench next to the grand staircase and leafed through his visitor guide. The woman at the membership counter mentioned that a 90-minute docent-led tour would be starting in half an hour in gallery 100. He was a few steps away from gallery 100, so he made his way toward the Asian art gallery to explore until the start of the tour.

When it was time, Jack found the docent and small tour group next the staircase and quietly joined them. The small man with large owlish glasses and a stern face cleared his throat to signal the start of the tour.

“Welcome to The Art Institute of Chicago. Founded in 1879, you are currently standing in one of the oldest and largest art museums in the United States.”

An elderly woman next to Jack smiled and raised her eyebrows. She looked at him and said, “Isn’t this exciting, son?” 

Jack smiled and nodded.

“Please save all questions for the appropriate time,” the docent said dryly.

Jack frowned and the women rolled her eyes, which caused Jack to smirk. 

The docent continued, “The museum hosts approximately 1.5 million guests annually. Its collection is stewarded by 11 curatorial departments, and its permanent collection of nearly 300,000 works of art is augmented by more than 30 special exhibitions presented yearly.”

Jack shifted his weight back and forth and began to roll and unroll his visitor guide.

“My name is Mr. Snodgrass and for the next ninety minutes, I will be taking you through the museum and highlighting its more impressive pieces which include such iconic works as Georges Seurat's A Sunday on La Grande Jatte, Pablo Picasso's The Old Guitarist, Edward Hopper's Nighthawks, and Grant Wood's American Gothic.”

The group made its way through the museum and started in the Impressionist gallery. They walked past a large painting of a Victorian couple walking through the rain, arm in arm. Jack paused to study it briefly as the group continued onward. 

It was a snapshot of quotidian life, and Jack felt charmed by the couple in it going about their day under an umbrella, together. Living, working, existing, together. To feel that comfortable and at ease with someone. That was something.

“Please keep up,” Mr. Snodgrass said as he clapped his hands together twice.

The group continued and made their way through the galleries and reached gallery 240 where A Sunday on La Grande Jatte hung. 

After a few minutes, Jack began to tune out the docent who, while well-informed, was about as entertaining as a root canal. 

“...a masterpiece and prime example of Pointillism, although Seurat preferred the term Divisionism,” Mr. Snodgrass said as he gesticulated toward the large painting.

Jack peered down the hallway and caught a glimpse of one of the Monets. He discreetly left the group and made his way there. Soon, he found himself surrounded by haystack and water lily paintings. Jack took out his phone and snapped a couple pictures and happily sent Alicia his favorites. 

_I’m here, maman! Wish you were here, too_ Jack added to his photos.

Jack then looked up to find his group who had begun to move toward him in the gallery. He was about to rejoin them when there, standing in front of one of the paintings, was the same man from earlier before. It was wallet guy. He stared at the Monet intently and gnawed on his lower lip.

Jack smiled, happy with this serendipitous turn of events.

He approached wallet guy and asked softly, “Do you like Monet?” 

“What?” wallet guy replied, concentration broken. He turned toward Jack and his face bloomed into a large smile. “It’s you.”

Jack nodded and felt his heart begin to race as he acknowledged his obvious attraction to wallet guy.

Wallet guy turned back to face the Monet. 

“Am I a bad person for saying I think they’re okay, but not my favorite? My mama wanted me to take a picture of them… but to me, they just look like a jumbled mess.”

“That’s what the world looks like before I put on my contact lenses,” Jack added.

Wallet guy laughed. “That’s not so bad, then.”

“Guess not,” Jack replied.

“There’s so much to see. I’m feeling kinda overwhelmed, to be honest,” wallet guy said as he looked around the large gallery.

“I’m part of a tour group if you want to join us,” Jack said and tried to sound casual.

“Will I get in trouble crashing your group?” he whispered.

“I don’t think so… but our guide is a bit of a stickler.”

Wallet guy shook his head, “Oh, never mind then.”

Jack quickly added, “It’ll be fine. I’m sure.”

“Okay, let’s do it,” he said and paused as he stretched out his hand. “I’m Eric, by the way.”

“Jack. Nice to meet you, Eric.”

Jack motioned to the group, and they both sidled up to the cluster gathered in front one of the Monets.

“A visitor favorite, Monet’s Stacks of Wheat which, unfortunately, are frequently and most erroneously referred to as The Haystacks. Tragic. These six pieces depict the effect of light, nature, and climate on these enormous stacks.”

Eric nudged Jack’s shoulder. Jack looked at him as Eric mouthed the word _tragic_ in an exaggerated manner. 

Jack laugh snorted unexpectedly, which caused the rest of the group to turn and look at him.

Eric slapped Jack on the back, and said, “It’s okay, he just had something stuck in his throat.”

“There is absolutely no eating in the gallery,” Mr. Snodgrass chastised.

Jack shook his head, “Sorry, I’m okay. Please continue.”

The group turned their attention back toward the docent.

“It was in fact scholar Robert Herbert who argued that they are grain stacks,” Mr. Snodgrass continued. “Never haystacks. Haystacks? No. Grain. Yes.”

He continued his lecture and Jack smiled. He felt completely at ease next to this near stranger at his side. This had never happened to Jack before. He felt happy, silly even. He turned and studied Eric. He was adorable from the bottom of his checkered Vans to the top of his blond cowlick.

“...he juxtaposed thick impasto with very thinly painted passages…”

Eric raised his hand.

“Yes?” Mr. Snodgrass said, seemingly annoyed at the interruption.

“ _Hey_ , don’t you think the paintings look kinda _grainy_?” He deadpanned.

Jack burst out laughing, as did one of the older women in the group. Mr. Snodgrass looked less than pleased.

Eric smiled innocently.

The tour continued as Mr. Snodgrass moved on to the next Monet.

Jack and Eric shuffled along with the group, and Jack could not shake his giggles. Here he was, with a virtual stranger feeling at ease, having fun -- FUN! -- and this person had no clue who he was which was altogether refreshing. He just genuinely felt happy. What a concept!

Mr. Snodgrass continued, “Back in 1891, Monet did create some pieces using black chalk with stumping and frottage on cream laid paper.”

Eric and Jack both looked at each other, and then Eric couldn’t hold it in. He began to laugh, “Excuse me? He did _what_ to that paper?!”

Mr. Snodgrass looked at then both with complete exasperation on his face. 

At that point, the laughter that Jack held in could no longer be contained as he wheezed, “Frottage on cream laid paper!”

The two broke down into a fit of giggles as Mr. Snodgrass added, “Perhaps, you two would like to explore the museum on your own?”

“Sorry!” Eric yelled as he took Jack by the hand and ran out of the gallery.

The two laughed as they made their way through tourists, sculptures, and gallery after gallery. They finally stopped when they found themselves in front of a large staircase with an enormous Georgia O’Keefe hanging in front of them.

“So… um. Hi,” Eric said as he blushed.

Jack smiled, “Hi.”

“Sorry I ruined your tour. I have issues with impulsivity. Clearly,” Eric said as he gripped the banister and looked down at his feet.

Jack shrugged. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

“My mama would tan my hide if she saw how I just behaved. Shameful.” 

“You saved me,” Jack added quickly. “The tour had just started but I was already pretty bored.”

Eric beamed. “We can check things out together -- if you want. I mean, we can just walk around and check out what we want to see?”

“That sounds nice. We can be overwhelmed together?”

Eric nodded with a shy smile, “Okay. Together.”

Jack felt his face turn red and tried to avoid looking directly at Eric.

“So, Jack are you here in Chicago for business or pleasure?” Eric asked as he jumped down the steps, one by one.

“Euh, both? I was here for a work thing and decided to stay an extra day and see the museum."

“Oh, that’s nice. What do you do for work?”

Jack frowned, and Eric immediately paused on the step. 

“Hey, no worries!” He said. “Totally okay if you wanna keep that air of mystery. I’m just nosey. Don’t mind me.”

Jack blushed and said, “No, that’s okay.”

“No really, no big deal. Me? I’m here actually interviewing for a job. Or at least an internship. Something. The interview is the day after tomorrow, and I really should be preparing for it but I just wanted to get out for a bit and clear my head.”

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Eric looked up at Jack and said, “You’re the tall, dark, handsome and quiet type, aren’t you? I totally get that and respect it.”

Jack blushed again.

“Oh lord, I’m sorry. See? Impulsive. I just say what I’m thinking, without thinking. I mean, maybe you’re just really shy, or quiet, or private. Who knows?! And here I am. I’m totally flirting with you, and am probably overstepping my boundaries. Just ignore I said anything okay? How about I don’t share anything too personal and you won’t share with me. There. See? I’m a hot mess. What do you want to see?” Eric said all in one long breath without a pause.

“You should probably stop and take a breath, eh?” Jack said as he motioned toward a bench next to the stairs.

Eric smiled.

Jack opened his visitors' guide and they both looked at the map together. Jack caught a whiff of Eric. He smelled like vanilla and sunshine.

Eric said, “How about we check out the modern wing?”

“Sure. I should let you know, though, I know absolutely nothing about art.”

“Neither do I, and that’s okay,” Eric said. “We can just make it up as we go along.”

Jack nodded, and they walked down the hallway toward the modern wing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'm from Chicago and most of my teenage years were spent at this museum. This is as much a love letter to the AIC as it is to Zimbits. And hells yes, I gave Jack a Cubs hat. ;)
> 
> Afternoon game? Well, what time does that museum close anyway? Let's say it's a Thursday. The museum is open till 8:00 p.m. on Thursdays. We can say the game ended at 1:00ish. There ya go.


	2. Something, Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Eric become friendly and spend the afternoon talking and strolling through the museum, getting to know one another.

“So, what job are you interviewing for?” Jack asked softly.

“Oh, it’s awesome. Don’t think I’ll get it, but I wanted to try you know? Pastry sous chef at Blackbird. Have you heard of Blackbird? It has a Michelin star. So they are looking for someone and I sent in my résumé, the link to some of my videos, and actually got called in for a meet and greet thing. I’m not done with school yet, though. They hinted it might be more of an internship or something. I probably won’t get it. Lord knows I don’t have the experience, but I at least wanted to come down and try. You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, you know?”

Jack smiled at Eric’s enthusiasm and his choice of motivational quote.

“I hope it works out for you, Eric.”

“Thanks, Jack. Me too.”

They entered the large vestibule of the modern wing, and Eric noticed a gift shop at the opposite end. 

“Do you mind if we stop at the gift shop at some point? I wanna get a little something for my mama.”

“No, that’s good. I should get something for mine, too.”

The two walked upstairs and strolled through the galleries. They walked past Picassos, Pollocks, Mondrians, Warhols, Shermans, and more… all the while making small chit-chat, but never once did it feel forced or awkward. 

Jack was happy letting Eric take the verbal lead but also offered opinions, insights, and anecdotes which made Eric laugh on more than one occasion.

“I like surrealism because it sort of feels like my head feels if that makes sense. Busy, sometimes making no sense at all, jumping from thing to thing, and always kinda stuck in a dream world.”

Jack smiled. “That sounds okay to me.”

Eric huffed, “I guess, but it’s exhausting sometimes.”

They stopped in front of Salvador Dalí‘s Inventions of the Monsters.

“Dalí, yay or nay?” Eric asked.

“I like some stuff, but others not so much,” Jack said as he studied the small painting. It gave him a sense of unease. Eric smiled as he looked at it.

“Look at that little dog in the corner. You can barely see him. All that chaos going on around him, and he’s just trying his best.”

Jack suddenly realized he felt like that little dog in his everyday life.

“I just wanna hug him,” Eric said softly leaning in a little more to get a better look.

“Not so close to the painting, please,” the security guard called out.

“Sorry,” Eric replied and stepped back.

Jack pulled out the visitor guide and said, “There’s another painting I want to see. I think we might have passed it up.”

Jack and Eric walked through the galleries when they found it. They paused in front of Picasso’s The Old Guitarist. 

“This one is one of my favorites, I think,” Jack said as they contemplated it.

“It’s sad,” Eric said with a knitted brow. 

“Or maybe he’s like that little dog in the Dalí, and just playing his music and trying his best? Trying to be better, even if it’s just for himself,” Jack said as he examined the painting.

Eric turned to study Jack for a moment. He then nudged Jack’s shoulder, “Yeah… maybe.”

The two had fallen into an easy companionship that afternoon. Eric told Jack about his childhood in Georgia, his escape from small-town life to a northern college (without mentioning which one) with its top-notch culinary arts program. Jack, in turn, spoke about Montreal, the cities he went to for “work” but how he hardly ever had time to visit any of them -- which is why he made an effort to stay in Chicago this time around.

After a while, they reached the gallery which housed the Joseph Cornell boxes. The two stood side-by-side in the darkened gallery, the lights dimmed way down low in order to protect the fragile assemblage pieces.

Jack eagerly traveled the expanse of the glass to peer closer at them. Each one contained a universe all its own, expressing a myriad of emotions: glee, sadness, solitude, feeling like an outsider.

“I really like these,” Jack said quietly as he studied one.

“They’re really something. Like… how can you make an entire world in one tiny box?” Eric asked as he got down on his haunches to study another one. “You can easily get lost in these. Stuck in your own tiny world.”

Jack leaned down next to Eric. Their shoulders brushed gently against each other, and Jack could hear Eric’s breath hitch. 

Jack turned to look at Eric, and Eric was already watching Jack, wide-eyed and silent. 

“Do you… um, I could go for some coffee. Wanna get some?” Eric asked as he quickly stood up.

“Sure,” Jack replied and took Eric’s hand as he offered it to help pull him up. They walked in comfortable silence and made their way to the members’ lounge in the basement. 

“Membership card, please?” the woman at the desk said as they walked in.

Jack handed her his temporary card.

“If you don’t live here, why are you a member?” Eric asked as he looked around the lounge.

“Oh, haha. The line was shorter?” Jack said with a blush.

“But isn’t membership way more than just a general admission?”

Jack shrugged sheepishly.

“Okay, Mr. Fancy Pants,” Eric said teasingly and walked toward the carafes of coffee and hot water on a table along the wall.

They poured themselves some coffee and then sat on a couple of armchairs off to one quiet corner near a large window.

“Where are you staying?” Eric asked as he stirred his coffee.

“At the Peninsula,” Jack said and blew on his cup. He felt his face burn with embarrassment.

“The Peninsula? Okay, I amend my previous statement. You’re now Mr. Fancy Pantaloons. I’m just at a tiny Airbnb in Wicker Park. It was cheaper than a hotel, right by the train, and I totally needed something with a kitchen to bake a couple things.”

“Practice for your interview?”

“You know it,” Eric said. “Apricot chocolate cake, a deconstructed eclair with dragon fruit reduction, a saffron panna cotta, grilled banana flan…”

Jack watched as Eric came to life. 

“When I was a boy and all the other boys were dreaming about football and starships, roughhousing or whatever, I wanted baking lessons with my moomaw. Rolling out dough, making preserves, macarons, almond cherry glaze… just baking, baking all the time. It was who I was, what made me happy.”

“It’s nice to find what makes you happy,” Jack said. 

“What makes you happy, Jack?”

Jack shrugged. He should have an immediate answer, and for the most part, he did. Hockey made him happy. His teammates, being at home with his parents, all of that… but he feels that there’s still something missing.

“My job is pretty great. I love my coworkers. They’re a great group of guys. And being at home in Montreal is always good. My maman always makes me banana pancakes when I’m home.” 

“Ooo, I love banana pancakes,” Eric added.

“My dad thinks I should get a dog,” Jack said apropos nothing.

Eric laughed. “Do you think you should get a dog?”

Jack shook his head. “In theory, it sounds nice. But I just travel too much, and it wouldn’t be fair to the dog.”

“I have a pet back at school,” Eric said.

“You do?”

“Yep. A rabbit. His name is Mr. Rabbit. His name is kinda an inside joke, but whatever. Mr. Rabbit is really cute. It’s nice to come home after a stressful day and just unload all my worries to someone who will listen without judgment. I just give him a carrot and he chomps away while I unload. Fuzzy therapy! My best friend Larissa is feeding him while I’m out here. Or at least I hope she is,” Eric said with worry.

“Is school stressful?” Jack asked. He had been set to attend Samwell University but was then drafted by the Falconers. Still, Jack wanted his degree. He worked hard and obtained a history degree online. Part of him regrets eschewing the collegiate experience, thinking maybe he could have made life-long friends along the way.

“Procrastination thy name is Eric,” Eric said solemnly. “If there is a last possible minute to wait to do something, I guarantee you I will be there waiting with bells on.”

“Oh no,” Jack said with a laugh.

“Oh no is right. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve rubbed poor Mr. Rabbit’s feet hoping it will change my outcome? But I manage. I know my faculty advisor wants to throttle me 90% of the time, but I make up for it with my winning personality and baked goods.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine. How much do you have left?”

“A year. One more yearrrrrrr,” Eric said dramatically. “Then my life can start.”

Jack and Eric both became quiet, and Jack contemplated what that really meant. How does one know when their life starts?

“Can we go to the gift shop after this? I can’t forget to get something for my mama.” Eric asked.

“Tell me about her,” Jack said. He was certain that if she had a hand in raising this charming creature, she was quite a woman.

“She’s my very best friend,” Eric said sincerely. “She taught me everything I know about being true to myself and standing up for myself. She taught me to bake -- along with my moomaw who is her mom, you know? -- she shared her snazzy sense of style, her love for pop songs. She taught me how to forgive people, how to _really_ forgive them and to grow from that forgiveness. I don’t think I’d be who I am today without her.”

Eric pulled out his phone and showed Jack a photo of Eric standing next to a petite woman in a kitchen. She was shorter than Eric, and Eric looked just like her. 

“That’s her! That’s my mama. Pretty, right?” Eric beamed. “She’s a Montessori teacher, but the school she’s at is trying to woo her and have her become the head of school. The current head of school is retiring and they want mama to run the school. I’m so excited for her.”

“She’s cute,” Jack said and smiled at Eric’s pride.

“What about your mother?” Eric asked and placed his phone on the side table next to them.

“She’s, uh, she’s something else. She’s strong, very strong and determined. She’s beautiful and uh, was a model but hates to be thought of nothing but a pretty face. She runs her own production company now, and raises funds for indie films. Mainly women-written and directed films.”

“Wow, well color me impressed. Do you have a picture of her?”

“Uh…” Jack was worried to pull out a picture, in case Eric recognized her. He didn’t want to suddenly become The Alicia Zimmermann’s Son. He just wanted to be just Jack, here, with this cute boy and enjoy their makeshift almost date.

Jack unlocked his phone and scrolled through several photos and finally found one of Alicia kissing Jack on the cheek. She was in profile and the sun lit them from behind. 

“This is her.”

“What a great picture, Jack. Where was this taken?”

“At our cabin in Nova Scotia,” Jack said as he smiled and looked at the photo. “That’s her most favorite place in the entire world. Sometimes the two of us just sit on the deck and watch the sun rise while we’re sipping on some coffee. We don’t have to say very much, we can just sit and know we are there for one another, enjoying that moment, together.”

Eric smiled at Jack and returned his phone.

“Speaking of moms, do you want to head up to the gift shop when we’re done with our coffee?”

“Sure,” Jack said and took another sip. The rich bitterness of the coffee warmed him throughout… although it may have been Eric having that effect on Jack.

The two finished their coffee then walked to the main gift shop. They perused the aisles debating what their mothers would like, and then stopped by the jewelry counter. 

“Oh, these earrings are fab!” Eric said as he pointed at a pair of stained glass earrings. “My mama loves chunky earrings.” He looked at the price tag. “Okayyy, never mind.”

Jack felt guilty when Eric quickly put the earrings back. 

“I think I’m going to check out the t-shirts. I’ll find you?” Eric said.

“I’ll be here,” Jack replied with a soft voice.

Jack continued to look at the jewelry -- much of which was Italian and expensive. Inside a display case, he found an amber mosaic bracelet. His mother loved amber and Jack knew she’d love it. 

“May I please see that bracelet?” Jack asked.

The saleswoman smiled broadly at Jack with a hint of flirtation. “It’s a beautiful piece. You have excellent taste. Your girlfriend is a lucky gal.”

Jack wrinkled his brow and said, “It’s for my mom. I’ll take it.” 

He handed over his credit card and then looked out for Eric. The bracelet was $398 and Jack tried to pay quickly before Eric returned. He knew he earned his salary every day, and his body paid a price for it, but part of him still felt guilty and embarrassed by his wealth.

Eric returned a few minutes later.

“I got a couple postcards and a t-shirt for my mama,” Eric said with much excitement.

“Nice,” Jack said.

“What did you get?”

“Just a small bracelet.”

“Sweet!” Eric motioned toward the door. “Shall we?”

They made their way toward the main entrance, and then entered their first awkward silence of the day. Eric stopped in his tracks and looked over at Jack. 

“So, I guess we should get going, huh?” 

“I guess so. Okay,” Jack replied.

Eric pointed toward the coat check line and said, “Um, do you wanna wait in line with me while I get my coat?”

“Sure.”

As the two waited, Jack noticed that Eric was now avoiding any eye contact with him. He nibbled on his lower lip, looked at the floor or at the people ahead of him in line, but not at Jack. 

When they reached the counter, Eric handed the coat room attended his ticket. Jack looked at Eric’s hands as they fidgeted with his sleeve.

“Here you go,” the attendant said and handed Eric a jean jacket.

“Thanks.”

Eric began to walk quickly toward the front doors.

“Can you hold this?” Eric asked as he handed Jack the museum store bag. Eric put on his jacket and Jack returned the bag. Their fingertips brushed against each other in the process.

“Thank you, Jack.”

They went down the steps and were soon standing beneath the iconic museum lions outside. Jack was the first to speak. 

“Guess you're heading off, aren't you?” 

Eric shrugged. “Yeah, I should go back to the house and bake a couple things. You know. Get ready for my interview.” 

"Yeah," Jack said awkwardly. "Oh, well... I guess that's it. Isn’t it?” 

Not being able to express himself and say all that he really wanted to say to Eric was killing Jack. He didn’t say that this was had been the best day he’d had in a long time, nor did he say that he felt so at ease with Eric as if they had known each other for years rather than just hours. He was afraid. Afraid of rejections, of all these new feelings… so instead he just stood there and remained painfully silent.

Eric sighed then put on a smile. 

“It's been great hanging out with you,” Eric said as he gripped his gift bag. “Jack... I…”

“Yes?” Jack asked as he hoped for something, anything.

“Well, I better go,” Eric finally said. 

“Bye, Eric.”

“Bye, Jack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Blackbird](http://www.blackbirdrestaurant.com) in Chicago.
> 
> [The Museum Shop](https://www.artinstituteshop.org) at the Art Institute.


	3. Nothing's Random

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Jack let Eric slip through his fingers? What will happen next? The last chapter of Jack and Eric's day together.

Eric gave him a watery smile, then made his way across the street toward Wabash Avenue. Jack watched Eric until he turned the corner. With a sigh, Jack began to walk down Michigan Avenue toward his hotel. 

Jack realized he suddenly felt a bit lost. The joy that had been running through his veins earlier was now gone. In its place was a deep heaviness he hadn’t expected. He walked past Eric’s Starbucks, Dylan’s Candy Bar, and finally made it to the Peninsula. 

By the time Jack entered the hotel lobby, he could feel a tightening in his chest begin to build. The start of a panic attack reared its head. Jack managed to reach one of the couches and took a couple grounding breaths.

Why didn’t he just ask Eric for his phone number? Or at least an email? Not smart, Jack. Not smart at all. He gripped his chest, inhaled deeply, and closed his eyes.

Just then Jack heard Eric’s voice.

“Jack! Oh my god, thank god I found you!”

Jack’s eyes flew open and there stood Eric, all disheveled and out of breath -- Eric, glowing and beautiful before him.

“Eric,” Jack said as he shot up from the couch, and felt ten pounds lighter.

“Jack, I know we just met -- and you’re probably not even interested in me in that way or whatever -- but I just felt like if I didn’t come back here I’d be missing something big, something amazing, and I’d regret it for the rest of my natural born life, so I ran all the goddamn way here!”

Jack smiled and nodded happily. 

“I’m sorry, I -- I should have said something at the museum. I just didn’t know what to say.”

Eric laughed. “I do. Please come home with me. I mean, I just... we can have dinner and hang out or whatever. Just, come home with me. Will you?”

Jack smiled and said, “Yes. Let’s go.”

Eric beamed and the two ran out of the lobby and onto the busy sidewalk.

They silently rode the Blue Line train toward Wicker Park. Their knees knocked together with each bump and stop. Every touch sent a thrill down Jack’s spine and warmed him from the inside out.

“You hungry, Jack?”

“Yeah, actually. Starving.”

“Me too. Let’s get off at Damen and get some ramen,” Eric said with a smile.

Jack nodded and continued to enjoy the repetitive motion of the train as it rocked back and forth, and with each moment that passed, he began to feel more and more at ease. Until he noticed two sporty bros looking at him and whispering to one another. One of them was wearing a Hawks shirsey. 

Jack immediately stiffened and looked down.

“What’s wrong?” Eric asked.

Jack shook his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Eric casually looked out the window and put his right hand on Jack’s. Jack instantly felt an ocean of calm wash over him and at that point, he didn’t care who recognized him. All he cared about was this amazing person seated next to him. 

Jack put his hand on Eric’s, and Eric instantly placed his other hand on top of Jack’s. 

They exited the train station and walked to a trendy ramen place in the neighborhood. Jack found himself surrounded by tiny grocery stores, dive diners and bars, a busy hum of activity, and hipsters galore. He doubted anyone would actually believe it was The Jack Zimmermann strolling around their neighborhood. Why would he be?

They were seated at a long communal table at the end of the restaurant. The only other people at their table were two college girls animatedly discussing a movie they just saw.

“So when do you fly back home?” Eric asked as he shucked off his jacket.

“Tomorrow early evening,” Jack said, then changed the subject. “Are you nervous about your interview?” 

“It is what it is. I generally hate when people say that, but in this case,” Eric shrugged and took a look at the menu. His face lit up. “Ooo, I’m totally having the chicken shio. What are you having?”

Jack glanced at the options and said, “Um, the shoyu ramen?”

“Coach loves ramen but I don’t think he’s ever had anything other than the ramen noodle you can buy for a dollar,” Eric said with a laugh.

“Coach?”

“That’s my dad.”

“And let me guess, he’s a coach?” Jack asked with a smirk.

“Not just any old coach, he’s _the_ all-state winning football Coach at Madison Central High.”

“Football, eh?”

Eric scowled, “Yeah, and you can imagine how well a non-footballing, baking son went over in our household.”

“But you’re amazing,” Jack instantly supplied.

“Look, when your dad is churning out NFL prospects, the rest of the town isn’t going to be impressed that his only son is Betty Crocker.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, well aware of how failed expectations felt.

“No, it’s okay. I’m just being whiny. Coach is great. He loves me, all of me -- and what more could I ask for, right?” Eric sighed.

Just then, the waitress came by. “You two know what you want?”

Eric instantly perked up. “Yes! Can we have an order of the Japanese pickles, and I’m going to have the chicken shio ramen, and he’s going to have the shoyu ramen.”

Jack smiled as Eric took the lead and placed their order.

“Cool, anything else?” she asked.

“Oh! Can we have a side of the takoyaki?”

“You got it. You okay with water?”

“Water is fine for me,” Jack added. 

“Same,” Eric said then looked at Jack with a large smile. “I hope you like octopus.”

“Guess I’ll find out,” Jack said and laughed.

“So, what’s your dad like? Guess we already talked moms and you know about Coach. Tell me about Mr. Jack’s dad.”

Jack cleared his throat. “Well, he’s really well known in his line of work… and uh, I’ve been expected to go into the family business for as long as I can remember.”

“Are they trying to stick you in a boring office job?” Eric asked alarmed as he placed a hand over his heart.

“Haha. No, it’s not a boring office job.”

“Thank god,” Eric said.

“And I’m good at that job, and I love it -- but sometimes, I just want people to know I’m doing it for me. Not because it was expected, or demanded, or that I had no choice. I’m doing it for me. I think my dad finally gets that.”

Eric smiled and put his hand on Jack’s once again.

“Of course,” Jack said, “now he’s telling me to remember there’s more to life than my career.” 

The waitress came by and placed a small bowl of pickles and a bowl of sliced octopus in front of them.

“Well, there is,” Eric said. “Like, for instance, there’s octopus.”

Eric took his chopsticks and picked up a chunk of octopus and fed it to Jack. Jack chewed thoughtfully and took his time as he savored the bite. He finally swallowed.

“So?” Eric asked with glee.

“Chewy. Really chewy.” Eric laughed as Jack added, “But good.”

Eric smiled and helped himself to some and hummed happily as he ate it. By the time they were almost done with their ramen, both Jack and Eric were laughing, slurping noodles, sharing even more stories and just as happy as they had been earlier in the day.

“Do you want an adult beverage?” Eric asked in between bites.

“I don’t drink. Or at least, I try not to.”

“Oh… that’s okay. I’m just feeling a bit nervous, that’s all. It’s not like I’m an alchy or anything.”

“Nervous?” Jack asked as he put his spoon down.

“Well, yeah. I mean look at you,” Eric blurted out then took a long sip of his water.

“What about me?” Jack replied with fear.

“Lord, honey. No, I don’t mean anything bad -- it’s just you’re drop dead gorgeous.”

“Oh,” Jack said and felt incredibly self-conscious. And then he felt shocked that Eric didn’t realize how beautiful _he_ was. “Eric… you’re stunning. You know that, right?”

Eric looked at Jack skeptically. “Are you messing with me?”

Jack shook his head. “Why would I do that?”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Eric said somewhat breathlessly. “Do you still want to come back to my place?

“Yes,” Jack answered. “More than anything.”

“Then we better eat fast.” 

Eric’s smile made Jack’s stomach flip. 

After their early dinner, they walked to Eric’s apartment which was in a charming brick three flat on a quiet end of the street.

They climbed the three flights of stairs, and Eric pulled out the keys from his pocket and opened the door. They were instantly greeted by a small calico cat that chirruped at them.

“Jack meet Ginger. Ginger, this is my new friend Jack. Don’t let his shockingly large ass frighten you.”

Jack laughed, “Um, what?”

Eric smiled and teased, “Don’t worry. It’s a work of art, really. And I should know, I’ve been looking at bonafide works of art all day.”

Ginger looked at them for a split second, then walked away completely uninterested.

Eric took his shoes off and hung up his jacket on a coat rack in the hallway while Jack followed suit and placed his baseball cap on the adjacent table. He ran his fingers through his hair and hoped it wasn’t a complete disaster.

“I was thinking about making a pie. Interested?”

“Sure. What kind?”

“Fancy some blueberry pie? I bought some blueberries yesterday and they’re lovely.”

And so, Jack found himself being Eric’s assistant in their pie-making endeavor. Eric plugged his phone into a dock on the counter and began to play some boppy, dancy music and swayed his hips to the rhythm.

“Pie is one of the first things my moomaw taught me to make. She said, ‘Bitty, if you can make a good pie, you can make a good anything.’” Eric said as he pulled some butter from the fridge and closed it shut with a nudge of his hip.

“Bitty?” Jack said, mesmerized by Eric’s dancing.

“Oh, yeah…” Eric said shyly. “She said I was so itty bitty and cute, so she just called me Bitty from day one. Better than having my mama call me Dicky. Richard’s my middle name.”

“Can I start calling you Bitty?”

“Only if you don’t value your life,” Eric said with mock sternness. 

“Fine. I’ll won’t, _Dicky_.”

“Don’t be a butthole!” Eric said laughing and pretended to whack Jack with a rolling pin he grabbed from the counter.

“Yeah, well you’re a whole butt,” Jack replied with a smile as he tried to take the rolling pin from Eric. They both dissolved into a fit of laughter.

“Okay, okay! Enough. Time to bake, mister!” Eric said as he pulled out a large canister of flour from the cupboard.

The two continued to work as Jack listened intently to Eric’s step-by-step directions. 

“I think I’m ruining this lattice,” Jack said with a frown.

Eric playfully flicked some flour at Jack, then made his way toward the sink as Jack grinned.

“Oh, sorry,” Eric said. 

“Pardon me,” Jack said with a smirk as he pretended to crash into Eric. 

“Excuse you, but there is no shoving in my kitchen,” Eric said with sass.

“ _Your_ kitchen?” 

“Well, _this_ kitchen. Now move your big, um...” 

“My big?” Jack said as he started to laugh.

Eric blushed and then waved Jack away.

When they finished, Eric placed the pie in the oven and lowered down onto his haunches to look at it -- very reminiscent of how he sat in front of the Joseph Cornell boxes.

“There it is. Now, all we do is wait and keep an eye on it.”

Jack crouched down and scooted next to Eric.

“My first pie,” he said proudly. “As deformed as it may be.”

“You hush, it’s perfect,” Eric said softly then turned to look at Jack. 

Jack met Eric’s gaze, and at that moment everything stilled and everything was perfect...

Their sense of peace and humor, the gentle teasing and laughing, everything that had occurred that day built to that moment.

Jack leaned in, and let himself fall into the kiss as he saw Eric’s eyes flutter shut. It was easy. There was no anxiety, no sense of fear. It was like slipping into a warm bath. Like coming home to a place he never knew existed but was 100% where he belonged.

“I hope this floor is clean enough,” Eric said in between each frantic peck. “I’d hate for us to have our big romantic moment on a dirty salmonella nightmare.”

Jack slotted his lips together with Eric’s, then parted his lips. Jack shivered as Eric slipped his tongue in, lush and warm. 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Jack murmured.

“It’s just that it might be...” Eric said in between kisses as Jack cupped his face.

“Shh...” Jack said sweetly, “just shh, beautiful.” 

He pulled Eric into his lap as Eric wrapped his arms around Jack.

 

Later, as Jack and Eric were naked curled up on the sofa with a soft blanket over them, Jack marveled at how his day at turned out -- and how different his life was from just 24 hours ago.

Their legs slowly intertwined as toes touched toes. Eric climbed up Jack’s torso to meet his lips. He ground his hips into Jack, and made Jack moan softly. The kiss began to intensify, then Jack pulled away.

“This was the furthest thing from my mind when I decided to stay in Chicago,” Jack said as he planted another kiss on Eric’s lips. 

Eric hummed happily. “Mmm-hmm…” He then sat up and looked at Jack sadly, “But you have to go.”

“Are you kicking me out?” Jack asked with a soft laugh and tried to ignore the fact that yes, eventually they’d have to part ways.

Eric shook his head and grinned as he pressed kisses onto Jack’s chest. “No, never. Stay forever!”

“You don’t live here… and I don’t live here,” Jack said with a sigh.

Eric kissed Jack slowly and whispered, “So come with me to Samwell.”

Jack stilled and said, “What?”

“Samwell… University. That’s my school.”

Jack stared at Eric incredulously, then began to laugh. “Are you serious?”

Eric smiled and kissed Jack’s nose, “Yeah, why?”

“Eric,” Jack leaned in and kissed him again, “my mother went to Samwell. _I_ almost went to Samwell.”

“Say what now?”

“I’m in Providence. I live in Providence!”

Eric’s eyes grew wide as he smiled and buried his face into Jack’s chest and threw his arms around him as the two laughed brightly.

Jack took a deep breath. How funny the world could be. Just when you think you’re settled in your life and that you might be alone, and you’ve made peace with it, just when you think you made one decision that doesn’t really seem like much -- suddenly, your world shifted. It changed its axis and everything now made perfect sense; everything aligned just so. 

And you see that the choices made your entire life were made to bring you to this one particular moment in time. Nothing was as random as it would appear. It was all part of a larger, more perfect plan.

Jack cupped Eric’s face and kissed him deeply. 

How wonderful for them both.


	4. Epilogue: Paris Street, Rainy Day

Jack paced back and forth as he looked toward the museum. He checked his watch. It had been ten minutes. Jack popped the collar of his grey pea coat and tucked his scarf in as it began to drizzle in earnest. Where was he? 

Jack smiled as he thought of Eric. That was his immediate reaction anytime he thought of Eric. How easily the two had made a new life together in between hockey and school. It was quite possibly the easiest thing Jack had ever done, and definitely his proudest accomplishment.

Eric, of course, was stunned to find out that his new boyfriend was an NHL star, just as the Falconers and Jack’s family were equally stunned (and thrilled) to find out that he had left them for a day and came back in love and in a relationship. When Eric finally moved in after graduation, it was one of the happiest days of Jack's life.

Jack opened his umbrella and was about to text Eric when he saw him jogging toward him.

“Hey, sweetheart! Sorry, it took a little longer than I thought,” Eric said as he smiled at Jack. “But I got it!”

Eric held a menu from the Café Richelieu-Angelina where they had just had the most decadent hot chocolate earlier that day. 

“They said they normally don’t let people take their menus as souvenirs, but I gave them a bit of the old Bittle Razzle Dazzle.”

“Bits, please tell me you didn’t steal it?” Jack said with a laugh as he leaned in to kiss Eric on the cheek.

“What? No! I don’t want Interpol breathing down my neck over a theft at the Louvre.”

Jack laughed, a hearty thing, and said, “That’s all we need. The headline will read ‘Fiancé of NHL Stanley Cup Winner Arrested for Art Museum Theft.’”

“Uh, excuse you, I think you mean ‘Adorable Up and Coming Pâtissier Arrested for Art Museum Theft.’” Eric said as he stowed his menu away inside his messenger bag, and snuggled into Jack under their umbrella.

“So, what do you want to do today, bud?” 

“Oh, I don’t care. As long as I’m with you, we could just stroll around the city doing nothing and it would still be the perfect day.”

“Well then, let’s go,” Jack said and wrapped his arm around Eric as they made their way down the rainy Parisian streets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They may or may not have eaten at [Furious Spoon](http://furiousramen.com).
> 
> Apparently, the hot chocolate at [Angelina's](https://www.louvre.fr/en/le-cafe-richelieu-angelina), in the Louvre, is to die for.
> 
> Yes, those noodles like going museum hopping now. That’s how they roll, those saps.
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting. <333

**Author's Note:**

> Paintings featured throughout this fic:
> 
> Gustave Caillebotte, French, 1848-1894 [Paris Street; Rainy Day](http://www.artic.edu/aic/collections/artwork/20684), 1877
> 
> Georges Seurat, French, 1859-1891 [A Sunday on La Grande Jatte](http://www.artic.edu/aic/collections/artwork/27992), 1884/86
> 
> Georgia O'Keeffe, American, 1887-1986 [Sky above Clouds IV](http://www.artic.edu/aic/collections/artwork/100858), 1965
> 
> Salvador Dalí, Spanish, 1904–1989 [Inventions of the Monsters](http://www.artic.edu/aic/collections/artwork/151424%20), 1937
> 
> Joseph Cornell [boxes](http://www.artic.edu/aic/collections/artwork/artist/Joseph+Cornell%20), American, 1903-1972
> 
> Pablo Picasso, Spanish, 1881–1973 [The Old Guitarist,](http://www.artic.edu/aic/collections/artwork/28067) late 1903–early 1904
> 
> All OMGCP characters belong to Ngozi. <3
> 
> Come and dance the watootsie with me [over at Tumblr](http://wrathofthestag.tumblr.com).


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